


Swords and Knives

by regularlordreckoner



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Angst, Child Abuse, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9183085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularlordreckoner/pseuds/regularlordreckoner
Summary: "When life begins with needles and pins, it ends with swords and knives." It's no secret to anyone who knows Yuri Plisetsky that he's an angry young man. It's one of his most defining characteristics that's only ever overshadowed by his presence on the ice (and sometimes not even then). But what no one really knows is why he's so angry. That is, until Otabek comes along. Can Yuri trust his best friend enough to tell him the truth or will his secret result in a devastating loss?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! I've had this idea rolling around in my head for a little bit, so I figured I'd try to actually sit down and write it out. As you can guess from the tags, this isn't an overwhelmingly happy story. There are some bright spots here and there, but this is going to be a rough one, I'm afraid. I haven't decided yet on the ending, but I'm thinking it will be a happy one in spite of all the angst. 
> 
> That being said, I'll try to give a head's up for the especially heavy stuff. This first chapter contains descriptions of verbal and physical child abuse. 
> 
> PS: Yuri is 18 in this story!  
> In spite of everything, I hope you...enjoy? Yeah, sure. Enjoy! :)

Anger is not, as some would say, a mask. In fact, it’s one of the most transparent things in the world. 

Anger is a child, jumping up and down while screaming and waving their arms shouting, “Someone please, please notice me!” Anger is the loudest sound in a silent room. Anger is not a security blanket, it brings no warmth and even less comfort. 

Anger is many things: a hoarse shout, a swinging fist, another hole in the wall, precious items broken to pieces, tears that won’t stop, a glare that could kill, an elevated blood pressure, a pounding heart, an absolute, all-encompassing adrenaline rush. 

But anger is not a mask. 

The worst part is, Yuri knows this. He knows that he’s not really hiding anything, that in spite of telling everyone to fuck off and leave him alone, to mind their own fucking business, that he doesn’t really want them to go. 

So, he throws his phone instead. He kicks his teammates. He turns red and yells at the top of his lungs. Once, in a horrible rage, he even threw a rock through Yakov’s windshield.

And yet…

And yet no one persists. 

Sure, they ask, “Jesus, Yuri, what’s the matter with you?” but of course the only response he gives is a curt, “Fuck off,” before he's on his way.

His temper tantrums continue until he's forcibly removed from wherever he's at or until he eventually runs out of steam. 

He wants someone to insist, to force him to be honest. To hold him accountable for his bad behavior. No more practice time until he tells the truth. His skates locked up until he decides to be an adult and put his feelings into words with as little vulgarity as possible. His phone taken away or turned off until he can stop being a little shit. 

But no one ever does and it makes him so angry he can't even see straight. They’d rather just mock his outbursts, attempt to coddle him, or put him by himself until he calms down. 

He knows this treatment all too well; an empty room, an ugly wall, uncomfortable furniture. 

He can remember sitting for hours sometimes, locked inside with no company and nothing to do while a feeling so big and overwhelming clawed its way up his throat from where it was rooted deep in his stomach. 

Eventually the door would open and he’d be told to come out. The tendency to immediately ruin everything again was tempting, especially when he could still see signs of his latest fit of anger on the floor where a broom had missed a few shards of glass from another ruined china plate or family heirloom. 

He never would, though. These episodes took time for him to build up that kind of steam and realizing that nobody actually gave a shit about what was going on inside of him took the wind out of his sails, at least for a little while. 

He would hang his head for a bit and respond only in singular syllables until the next day when he’d find something else to be outraged about and the cycle would continue. 

  


His grandfather was the only person who ever seemed to care. 

“You’re far too angry, even for a Russian, Yuratchka,” his grandfather would say while cooking him his first real meal in months or while picking him up from practice on the few precious occasions he was able to. 

Yuri was careful with his anger when he was in his grandfather’s presence. He knew he had to have some idea of his situation at home, but they never spoke openly about it and for that Yuri was privately grateful. 

As much as he wanted for someone to ask, he didn’t want that person to be his grandfather. It would be too upsetting, he feared, and he didn’t want his grandfather to feel guilty over things he couldn’t control. 

Yuri’s father, his grandfather’s only child, had died when Yuri was young. It had been a complete accident. His father had been out one weekend ice fishing with his friends. They had been drinking and somehow his father had wandered off too far from the group. The ice collapsed beneath him and before anyone could get to him, he drowned. 

Yuri had been too young to really understand the gravity of it all. He had loved his father and was sad that he was gone, but he so often was that Yuri figured it would only be a matter of time be he reappeared, hopefully with another stuffed cat that he could add to his collection. It took years before he really understood that his father wasn’t going to come home at one in the morning wearing the scent of alcohol like cologne. 

His mother had been distraught, naturally. Yuri knew they yelled a lot, but his mother would tell him sometimes, with tears in her eyes, that things had been different before he’d come along. 

They used to be in love, incredibly so, but when Yuri came along everything had changed. Apparently raising a child neither of them had planned for was stressful and put them both on edge, not to mention it left them with precious free time to be together as their world now had to revolve around their son.

Yuri had felt for a long time like his mother didn’t particularly like him very much, but with the death of his father it became incredibly evident. 

The first time she smacks him across the face, he’s five years old. His father’s already been gone a year, but to him it feels like just a few incredibly long days. Not understanding still, he asks her when his father’s coming back. She hits him and calls him a horrible little creature and then locks herself in her room and cries for hours. 

Yuri’s left even more confused, but feels like there isn’t anything he can do. He shuffles back to his room to play, hoping that any second his father will come home and after the shouting ends maybe he'll join Yuri and tell him more stories about fearsome jungle cats and heroic princes. 

He tells himself his mother will feel better later, as she sometimes does. She’ll make him something to eat and they’ll both watch TV from opposite ends of the couch and then she’ll tell him to go to bed and they won’t talk about it. 

And this happens, only…the hitting continues. 

He was used to spankings and having his hands slapped, but the smacks across his face are new and, unfortunately, frequent. It seems as though once the flood gates holding back his mother’s rage broke, and without his father’s presence around, there was nothing left to stop her. 

By the time he’s eight he’s broken both his arms, suffered two concussions, and can scarcely remember what his skin looks like unblemished from bruising. 

The few precious times he’s allowed to visit his grandfather, he’s instructed to keep all of this quiet. If he says anything, he’ll be in serious trouble. How serious, she never really elaborates, but he can remember one night crying himself to sleep in his room, his back pressed against the door as his mother pounded on it with her fists, her drunken voice on the other side swearing that she’ll kill him. 

Needless to say, he doesn’t let his grandfather know and he’s careful to never let him see any of the physical marks on his body. 

Somehow, in spite of the chaos, he still pursues skating. His father had been teaching him before his accident and it was the only time Yuri ever felt anything even close to true happiness. 

He keeps with it and amazingly his mother doesn’t mind. Partly because she doesn’t care, but partly because it gets him out of her hair for a little while. He once made the mistake of asking her if she wanted to come see him skate and for that he ended up with a dislocated shoulder. 

His coach is a kind man, but a coward. Yuri feels like he must know what’s wrong because although his teachers are mostly apathetic and untroubled by what they assume is just another clumsy child, his coach knows better. 

His coach, a man named Ivan, knows that Yuri isn’t clumsy. He knows that Yuri is graceful in a way most children and even most adults are not. He was the one, after all, who got Yuri into ballet and encouraged him to really pursue figure skating in earnest. 

He pops Yuri’s shoulder back into place and takes him to the hospital when he has gashes on him that should have gotten stitches right away. He tells the doctor that it's all from the ice, Yuri just fell, isn't that right? Yuri focuses instead on trying to get the candy part of the sucker off the stick with his tongue to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling of having his skin sewn back together. 

Ivan keeps a first aid kit for the other children and then one just for Yuri because he goes through so many more bandages and requires more ointment than all of the injuries of his classmates put together. Ivan dresses his wounds and curses under his breath, but he never tells anyone about it and Yuri figures it's just as well. There's no telling how angry his mother would be if someone came knocking on their door demanding to see how she treats her child. He knows there's a best case scenario where she goes away and he goes...someplace else, perhaps someplace better, but he's afraid there won't be a skating rink there and that his cat won't be able to come with him, so he lets Ivan be a coward. He knows Ivan’s a good person, deep down, but he also knows that Ivan won’t ever say a word and likewise, Yuri vows to never disclose any details. 

In addition to the physical violence, his mother calls him every hateful name she can think of and belittles him at every turn. She constantly sneers at him and finds new, inventive ways to try to discredit his interests. She tells him that everyone thinks her son’s a faggot, out there spinning around on the ice and that she agrees. She tells him that figure skating is a waste of his time, that he won't be able to do it forever, especially if he keeps wolfing down carbs and sweets the way he does. She threatens to cut his hair, to force him into an actual sport, but they both know she’s really not that invested, it’s just something to say, some new way to try to tear him down and make him afraid. 

The abuse goes on and Yuri gets older. With her anger and her neglect, Yuri is left vulnerable and alone, but it’s still nothing he can ever tell his grandfather. 

His grandfather's not in the best health, he has some kind of liver condition that Yuri doesn’t really understand but knows that it means his grandfather has a lot of trouble doing things. 

He wishes desperately that he could live with him instead. He could help his grandfather, could make himself useful so that the older man could rest more and feel better, but his mother hates him and it takes an act of congress as is for Yuri to be able to see him the few times he does. 

His grandfather never approved of Yuri’s mother and made his opinion on the matter very clear. His mother tolerated her father-in-law so long as she got what she wanted, but with her husband now gone she wants virtually nothing to do with the old man. 

It’s only for the fact that she reaches a point where even bullying Yuri becomes less appealing than having him out of her sight that she allows them to see one another at all. 

Fortunately, by the time he's fourteen he's saved up enough money to move out. It results in a massive fight with his mother, one of the worst yet as she insists that Yuri's money belongs to her and that he'll only be leaving in a body bag if he tries to keep it from her. When he asks Viktor afterwards to take him to the hospital there must be something so venomous in his voice that when he insists that Viktor doesn't ask any fucking questions, the older man does exactly as instructed. 

It takes him some time before he's able to completely shake her presence out of his life, but he does it. He gets an apartment not too far from where his grandfather lives and he's almost happy. 

Even still, Yuri thinks about it often. About just telling the truth. A few times he almost does, but he always stops himself because he remembers how his grandfather cried when he found out that his only son was dead. He remembers how weak he had looked and how his health had declined even more so with the loss. Yuri wants to see him more, to live with him even still, but he's afraid that sooner or later he'd end up telling.

He’s afraid, frankly, that if he opens his mouth and spills all the terrible secrets he’s kept for so long that he’ll kill his only savior. 

Instead, he swallows them down. He bottles them up. He puts them on a shelf. 

In their place, he wraps himself up in anger and wishes, just once, that someone who could handle the news would ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon! 
> 
> Also, if you're wondering, the title is taken from the song "Swords and Knives" by Tears for Fears off the absolutely incredible The Seeds of Love album. :)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! I didn't really intend to post another chapter so soon, but this one's fairly short. Also, it's a happy chapter, so...that's nice, right? 
> 
> That being the case, there aren't really any warnings for this one. Well, some fluffy goodness, so just...be careful. ;)

When he meets Otabek, he feels like the world’s shifted beneath him. 

It’s not when he calls him an asshole in the hotel lobby or even when he climbs on the back of Otabek’s bike for the first time. It’s when Otabek says he remembers Yuri. It’s when he says his eyes were unforgettable, like that of a soldier’s. 

He looks out at the beautiful city sprawled beneath them and feels it. It’s finally happened. Someone’s finally seen him. Not just the anger, not just the outbursts, not just the hateful words and childish behavior. Otabek _sees_ him and he’s not running away. 

They go out for coffee and it feels like stepping on ice for the first time all over again. He feels free and lightweight. He feels like there’s nothing and no one that can stop him. He feels…happy. Genuinely, amazingly happy. 

Of course, nothing gold can really stay, so the moment’s interrupted by the pork cutlet bowl and his gaggle of obnoxious friends, although Yuri has to admit it's nice to find Viktor upstaged by someone else’s obliviousness for once as they recant the infamous banquet story, much to Yuuri’s horror. 

Otabek walks him back to his room that night and they exchange numbers and social media account usernames. 

Yuri smiles and ducks into his room before dutifully looking through Otabek’s profiles on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram which unfortunately doesn’t take very long as Otabek rarely posts. Even more unfortunately, the other skater is seldom in any of the photos he posts, it’s mostly beautiful scenery with some to-the-point caption underneath. 

It makes sense, Yuri thinks. He remembers Viktor complaining about what a closed book Otabek was and how, in spite of having skated with him for years, he knew virtually nothing about his personal life. 

Yuri had always felt like Viktor should just butt out and let the poor guy be, but now that he actually knows Otabek as a flesh and blood person, a person he privately thinks of as _his_ Beka, instead of just some faceless skater, he really wants to punch Viktor in his heart-shaped mouth. 

He falls asleep smiling that night, imagining himself beside Otabek in the handful of self-portrait photos his accounts do hold and doesn’t think too hard about why his heart feels so full. 

* * *

It takes some time, years actually, before they’re fully comfortable with one another. 

It’s not to say they aren’t close, because they are. Yuri can’t even remember what his life was like before he met Otabek. Had he really never had Skype before? Had he really gone without having unlimited texting? Had he really spent his weekends alone? It didn’t seem right. 

Unfortunately, their careers often put them on opposite sides of the earth, but that's hardly deterred them. 

Yuri had been afraid in the beginning that he was bothering Otabek, that he was being too clingy. Surely the man who enjoyed eating alone and who was the first to leave a party wouldn’t want to constantly be on his phone or be dragged around the city by some brat, right? 

Strangely, though, Otabek never seemed to mind. 

In fact, once there was an entire month before competition that went by where Lilia was determined to push Yuri to his limits which meant he rarely had time to get online. 

Once the competition was over and he finally shook off the exhaustion, he logged on to find that Otabek had left him sixteen Skype messages. 

**Tuesday, April 2, 2019**

_This reminds me of you._

Underneath is a link to a cat video which has Yuri smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

**Thursday, April 4, 2019**

_There’s a Russian place here. I had the pirozhkis. Yours are better._

**Sunday, April 7, 2019**

_It’s rained all day today. Everyone hates it, but I’m enjoying it. Wish you could see it, I know you like the rain, too._

**Monday, April 8, 2019**

_Yuri’s Angels are following me on Twitter. They keep tagging me in tweets about ships. I wonder if there’s a famous pirate named Otabek I don’t know about?_

_Never mind, it’s a romantic thing, apparently._

_If anyone asks you if you’ve ridden my bike, be careful, it’s a trap._

**Tuesday, April 9, 2019 ******

_I’m thinking about writing my own music for a routine. Not sure I could choreograph it, but I’m getting tired of the classics._

_Maybe if I pull it off I could write one for you, if you wanted._

**Friday, April 12, 2019**

_I actually had the day off today. I finally watched that Netflix show you’ve been bugging me about. It’s really good, but I guess I should know better than to second guess your taste?_

**Saturday, April 13, 2019**

_I miss you._

**Tuesday, April 23, 2019**

_I think this song thing is really coming along. I can’t wait for you to hear it._

**Thursday, April 25, 2019**

_I watched your performance via livestream. You were incredible, but I’m guessing you already know that. Bring that gold medal with you next time we see each other, you know I rarely get to see one up close._

_I’m sorry, you told me I need to be less self-deprecating, but you’re not here to punch me for it, so._

**Monday, April 29, 2019**

_Song’s finished._

_I hope you like it._

_Let me know what you think, whenever you get a chance._

Yuri eagerly clicks the attachment and waits for the music to start. 

He closes his eyes and lets it wash over him. 

He’s known Otabek has a flair for music, has seen his small collection of instruments that he keeps in his room, but only once has he been able to convince the other man to play for him and even then it was nothing like this. 

The melody itself is beautiful and just a little bit sad, but what catches Yuri off guard is the voice. 

Without a watchful eye making him nervous, Otabek’s voice is finally crystal clear and without restraint. 

Yuri doesn’t know entirely what he’s saying, his Kazakh is still shaky, but he does know that Otabek’s voice is his new favorite sound in the entire world. 

It’s low and smooth, but a little rough around the edges. He slides from one note to the next the way his eyes tend to scan a room. It’s a comfort unlike any Yuri’s ever known and he finds himself wrapping his own arms around his torso to try to mimic how Otabek’s voice is making him feel. 

He plays the song at least ten more times before he finally writes back. 

**Wednesday, May 1, 2019**

_If you don’t use this song or let me use it I’ll kick your fucking ass_

Otabek types back almost immediately 

_Duly noted._

_Also, glad to have you back._

_: )_

Yuri thinks about that smiley face before he goes to bed and dreams about tracing his fingers over Otabek’s lips as he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned, I sense turbulence coming up!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I want to say first, thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos this story's been getting so far I really appreciate it and it makes my day every time I see them, so thank you! I promised another part this weekend, so here you go! Turns out there's some more fluff in this one, although it's slightly bittersweet. No real major warnings for this chapter, although there is a brief mention of past abuse, but this chapter really just revolves around Yuri and Otabek's ever-evolving friendship so...enjoy! :)

Everything gets incredibly, inexplicably complicated when Yuri realizes the full extent of his feelings towards Otabek. 

It’s not as if he hadn’t suspected or made a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, he just…didn’t think it was this serious. It’s just that one day he realizes the pain in his stomach isn’t from anything he ate or how hard he’s been training, it’s because he misses Otabek. He misses him so much that it keeps him up at night, where he listens to Otabek’s song on repeat and scrolls through a folder he has saved on his phone of his most favorite photos of his friend. 

He realizes how completely and utterly screwed he is when he Skype calls Otabek one night and blushes so hard the entire time that Otabek suggests he check his temperature and drink plenty of fluids because it looks like he’s coming down with something. 

He realizes how deeply far gone he is when Otabek fills up the dreams he does manage to have when his body gives in to exhaustion and sleep pulls him under and how, even in the waking hours, Yuri’s thoughts revolve around a certain handsome, but stern face. 

What crushes him the most, what kills him inside, is that he knows it’s not possible. 

He doesn’t know how Otabek feels, although he likes to imagine that he’s not alone in this. It seems outrageous that he could feel as strongly as he does and not have Otabek feel even one iota of it back, but…crazier things have happened. 

And yeah, he’s let himself read a lot into Otabek’s messages or how his face lights up, in its own, subdued way, whenever he sees Yuri. 

But they’re friends, Yuri tells himself. Just friends. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. After a lifetime of loneliness and rejection, he’s come to value his friendship with Otabek immensely. And realistically, it’s not as if being together would completely throw his life out of orbit. 

They’d still talk just as much, perhaps a little more. They’d still be close, only now when Otabek braids his hair or when Yuri watches TV with his head in Otabek’s lap they might kiss now and then. 

And if they make stupid promises to one another like the ones pork cutlet bowl and Viktor do then…yeah, they’d be committed to one another in a more obvious, mushy way, but...

But Yuri knows that can’t happen. 

Because even if Otabek felt the same way and even if he was willing to make that transition into something closer, Yuri knows it wouldn’t be right. 

He knows this because he knows things about himself that no one, not even Otabek, knows and he tells Otabek everything. 

It had been a relief when he’d finally opened up about his past with his mother. Otabek had listened without pity, had remained silent for the better part of five hours late into the night while he and Yuri sat on Yuri’s bed and were both peripherally aware of the sun coming up. 

When it was over, when Yuri had divulged as much as he was willing to share, Otabek had simply gathered Yuri into his arms and held him like that until they both fell asleep. He offered Yuri no false words of comfort or bullshit platitudes about how everything happened for a reason. He didn’t act like his presence in Yuri’s life or his embrace magically fixed everything. He didn’t try to point out all the good things in Yuri’s life now and how his past is behind him and doesn’t matter. He just accepted it and accepted Yuri without even having to think about it. 

For the longest time one of Yuri’s worst fears was telling someone everything he’d told Otabek and to have them attribute his accomplishments to his mother and her abuse. That somehow he was supposed to believe that without his shitty childhood, he wouldn’t have been half of the person he was now. And yes, Otabek had called him a soldier, but he hadn’t known then and even now, he still doesn't give anyone but Yuri the credit for his success. 

Regardless of that and of Otabek’s acceptance in general, it still weighed on his mind, so Yuri asks him one night, with the lights out while they face opposite sides of the room.

“Beka…?” 

“Mmm? Do you need more covers?” 

“N-no…I…never mind.” 

“Yura,” he says, with firmness. 

“Do you…do you think I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t been through everything I have?” 

Otabek is silent for a minute and then another. 

After three minutes Yuri is ready to scream. He shouldn’t have asked. He should have let it be. It was a stupid thing to ask. He doesn't want to know, doesn't _need_ to know. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Huh?” 

“Absolutely you would be. Your past doesn’t define you, Yura, only you do that. You were born with the spirit of a fighter, you weren’t shaped into one, at least not completely. It’s what helped you survive. Had you had a loving, supportive family this whole time you would still be winning medals and putting everyone else to shame, only…your parents would be fighting with JJ’s parents over who loves their child more and whose child is the better skater. It’d be you, for the record.” 

Otabek says all of this and even though Yuri can’t see him, he knows he’s smiling that half-sly smile of his. 

Yuri can only roll over and wrap his arms around his friend as he buries his face in Otabek’s back, wetting his t-shirt with tears as he whispers, “Thank you.” 

It had been cathartic, for sure, to have had this moment and to know that finally someone else knew his past and accepted him for it without contorting it into something it wasn’t. The only problem was…Yuri hadn’t told Otabek everything. 

He’d wanted to, had planned on it even, it was just…heavy. Heavier, at least, compared to what he’d already divulged. 

In part, he felt guilty out of selfishness. They’d talked so much about Yuri and his past, but he still knew so little about Otabek’s. He knew more than most, that was for certain, but it still felt like Otabek had a natural wall around him that even Yuri couldn’t climb over or find his way around. 

He tried not to read too much into it or think of it as personal. Everyone deserved to have their secrets and clearly Yuri wasn’t in a place to accuse Otabek of withholding anything. Incidentally, though, it served as all the more reason for why he didn’t think this could ever work. 

Otabek clearly didn’t trust him enough to reveal his most private personal details and…likewise, Yuri felt too intimidated to open himself up to possible rejection by revealing the ugliest truth about himself. 

So for now, he was content to carry his feelings behind him like a heavy roll on suitcase with a busted wheel. Eventually in time the feelings would dissipate, he was sure, and he could go back to appreciating their relationship exactly as it was without being greedy and hoping for something more. 

He could do it. He _would_ do it. And that was all there was to it. Not so complicated, really. 

* * *

Except for the fact that Otabek throws a wrench in his plan completely. 

It happens in the summer of that year. Otabek brings home silver and within a day Yuri is by his side, displaying his gold as promised. 

Otabek takes him out to their favorite restaurant in his hometown before they crash back at his place for the night. 

Yuri's texting Mila for updates about how his cat is doing while he's gone when Otabek settles on the couch next to him. 

“Shift,” he commands. 

Yuri pretends to be annoyed, but moves to accommodate Otabek so they can sit with Otabek’s back pressed against the arm of the couch with Yuri between his legs. 

“Happy?” he says as he lets his head fall back against his best friend’s chest. 

“I’m content,” Otabek says as he plucks Yuri’s phone out of his hand. “Selfie?” 

Otabek knows him too well. 

Yuri nods and brushes his hair slightly to the side. 

“It’s still in your eyes, you know,” Otabek says with amusement as he holds Yuri’s phone out in front of them to take the picture. 

“Shut up, I’m cute,” Yuri snaps before giving the camera his signature sneer while Otabek defaults to his signature glare. 

“Let’s do flower crowns this time,” Yuri says as he reaches for his phone and starts playing around with filters. 

“Okay,” Otabek says, his hands now free to settle at Yuri’s sides while he makes them both look intimidatingly glamorous. 

He posts the photo to every account he has, tagging Otabek in everything, and closes his phone with a self-satisfied sigh. 

“I can’t believe I actually missed this dump,” he says as he looks around Otabek’s apartment. 

“Easy now, just because I don’t decorate everything in jungle print doesn’t mean this place sucks.” 

“Tch.” 

A comfortable silence settles between them as Yuri closes his eyes and starts to drift off in Otabek’s embrace. He often wonders about moments like these, moments when they're close like this. In general, he hates being touched. In part because he tends to hate most people and therefore doesn't want them to put their hands on him, but it's also because he’s grown up without an abundance of affection and in its place knows too well the damage a hand can do. With Otabek, though, it's different. Otabek sitting close to him or slinging an arm over his shoulder doesn't make him want to fight. It had thrown him off, at first, but he quickly learned to let himself sink into it like a warm bath. 

And if over time he's pushed the boundaries of how close he can get without being obvious or making Otabek uncomfortable then, well, no harm done, right? He falls asleep in Otabek’s arms whenever possible, will gladly share a bed with him rather than force one of them to sleep on the couch or floor, and if he borrows some of Otabek’s clothes and “forgets” to give them back, then the other skater certainly never says anything about it, so Yuri doesn't bother to either. 

Yuri gets so lost in this secure feeling that he only ever seems to experience when Otabek’s around that he almost doesn’t hear him when he asks, “Yuri…? Are you still awake?” 

“Mnn?” 

“I never told you about my family, did I?” 

Yuri swallows, suddenly very awake. 

“No…you haven’t.” 

Otabek makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and for a second, Yuri thinks the moment is over. After a few minutes of silence, however, Otabek begins to speak. “My parents are the best parents in the world, they really are. They have loved me and supported me since day one. I’m sure deep down they probably wish I was doing something else with my life, something more sustainable, but nevertheless they’re proud of me.” 

Yuri feels his chest tighten. He’s happy for Otabek, he’s glad that he has that in his life and if anyone deserves love and support, it’s his best friend, it’s just…he can’t help but feel envious. 

Otabek continues, “The problem is…my family isn’t rich. Not at all. In fact, I can remember as a child sleeping in cars and once on the street because my parents couldn’t afford rent. It’s better now, with my career. I’ve given them most of my winnings and still had some left over for myself. I’ve helped keep a roof over my siblings’ heads and I know my parents are grateful, it’s just…I’m not a hero. They call me that, you know? The hero of Kazakhstan. My parents love it. My sisters and my brother love it. My grandparents. Our neighbors. You’ve seen it, the free cups of coffee, the best table in the restaurant, being bumped to the front of the line…” 

“And here I thought it was all for me, the Ice Tiger of Russia,” Yuri says with a soft smile as he inclines his head back to catch Otabek’s eye. 

Otabek smiles and reaches up to poke Yuri’s cheek. “Only by half. My point is…everyone thinks so much of me, but I don’t live up to their expectations. I’m a good skater, I know that, but I’m also…forgettable. I’m not beautiful on the ice the same way that you are.” 

At this, Yuri blushes so hard he has to look back down and becomes suddenly interested with a loose thread on his sweatpants. 

“I’m not ashamed of my family or of my life, I’m just…embarrassed, I suppose, because I wish I was more. I’m not JJ or Viktor or Christophe, I don’t live for the flashing cameras and the spotlight. I want to make art, I want to create something out there and in between that, I want to make sure my family is taken care of and happy. I’m just afraid that I don’t deserve their pride, so I say nothing. It’s easier that way, I suppose.” 

Yuri continues to look down as he lets Otabek’s words wash over him. There’s no deep, dark secret, at least not the same caliber as what he’s carrying. It’s personal, definitely, and it’s something he can tell Otabek hasn’t told anyone else before, but it’s nothing that changes how Yuri sees him or feels about him and he realizes that Otabek needs to know as much, not to be left in silence while Yuri has a crisis of his own. 

With some effort from their cozy, but somewhat cramped position, Yuri turns himself around, settling on his knees in front of Otabek so that he can look him in the eyes. 

“Whether you like it or not, you are a hero, Beka. No, stop,” he says as he sees Otabek’s mouth open, most likely to protest that accusation. “You are. In the same way that I’ve always been a soldier, you’ve always been a hero. And it’s not as if being a hero is about doing something huge, it’s the sum of who you are as a person or…whatever,” he says, his face practically on fire from being so candid about mushy feelings bullshit. 

“Or whatever?” Otabek raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, asshole, you heard me. You’re a fucking hero. You love your family and you’ve worked your ass off to take care of them. You could have been a self-obsessed douchebag with your head up your own ass who kissed this town goodbye once you started putting losers in their place out on the ice, but you didn’t. You make sure they have a good life and you take back so little for yourself, that makes you one of the good guys. You’ve won gold before, so don’t even give me that bullshit. You know how shitty it can be sometimes. I’ve worked my absolute ass off before only to lose by less than a point or to be outshined by some idiot jerking himself off to the sound of his own name. You don’t give up and I don’t give up and we’re good, Beka, we’re really fucking good at what we do. And also…you saved me once, y’know. My fan club that you’re so fond of? Remember how they hunted me like I was a fucking fox or some shit and then suddenly there you were, offering me an escape. You’re my fucking hero for that alone, so don’t sit here and get down on yourself because you’re fucking incredible and you’d better take me to meet your family tomorrow, asshole, or else.” 

Yuri ends his impromptu speech with a soft punch to Otabek’s shoulder, which gets a laugh out of him. In fact, his face is so lit up with it that it pains Yuri to look at him, because if he does he’s afraid he’ll do something stupid like try to kiss him, so he turns back around and grabs his phone to distract himself. 

“Look, five thousand likes and comments already!” he exclaims as he checks each account individually. 

If Otabek wraps his arms a little tighter around Yuri’s waist then neither of them say anything about it. 

* * *

Yuri meets Otabek’s family, as ordered, and it’s a complete frenzy. 

His siblings are all younger and although they’re proud of their brother, they’re beside themselves to have Yuri Plisetsky in their house. 

They take turns dragging him around the house to show him surprisingly good drawings that hang on their walls, as well as their little garden out back. 

Otabek’s mother embarrasses him to death by insisting on shoving food into Yuri’s hands (“He’s too little, why don’t you feed your friend better, Beka?!”) and by dragging out his baby pictures for Yuri to stifle laughter over. 

Even his father, who normally never makes much of a fuss, treats Yuri like a prince and insists on showing him his current woodworking projects even though Otabek’s pretty sure Yuri doesn’t care. He’s touched, nevertheless, when Yuri listens while smiling and praises his father’s work. 

By the time they get back to Otabek’s apartment, in spite of his mother’s sixteen separate attempts to make room for Yuri to stay the night, they’re both exhausted. 

“Your family is…” 

“A bit much? I’m sorry. I knew they’d be excited to meet you, I just didn’t think…” 

“They’re wonderful. Really, Beka. I’m glad you have them,” Yuri says a little more wistfully than he intends. 

Otabek wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls Yuri close to his side. 

“You have them now, too.” 

Yuri will swear up and down that the reason he has to bury his face into Otabek’s chest is because he’s almost asleep on his feet, but they both hear his muffled sob and Otabek, ever the gentleman, says nothing as he rubs his friend’s back. 

When they do finally make it to bed, Yuri falls asleep wondering if Otabek’s parents would still like him if they knew he was in love with their son.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! I bring you this update today with hesitancy because this is where things are going to get really rough. Yuri's having a bad time all around and it leads him to open up about his past some more and, well, if you take note of the tags it's going to be tough. That being said, this is a warning for mentions of past child physical and sexual abuse (nothing explicit or graphic). I hope there's still some brightness worth savoring so with that I'll be quiet and let you get on it with. Enjoy and thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos, I really appreciate it! <3

When Yuri ends up telling Otabek his secret, it’s not at all how he intended it. Not that he’d ever really intended it to begin with, he was content to never let his friend know, but still. If there had been a circumstance under which he would have, the one he found himself in definitely was not it. 

It starts with a competition, like most things in his life do. Everything was going well, amazing, actually. Lilia had devised two incredible programs for him and he was killing it every time. 

The expectations for his performances were at an all-time high now that he was breaking records and winning big at every competition. He was currently on a winning streak, although it hadn’t been a cakewalk. 

JJ had managed to dig his confidence back out of the gutter after a performance that echoed that of his Grand Prix performance three years prior and was performing even better than before. Christophe, who was still contemplating retirement, was pushing himself harder now that Viktor was competing again. Viktor himself was garnering praise with his routines, as always. Loathe as he was to admit it, Yuuri had grown exceptionally as a skater over the past few years and was definitely the one to beat. And, of course, there was Otabek. Incredible, determined Otabek who always surprised audiences with his unassuming nature and beautiful work on the ice. 

Yuri supposes he should have seen it coming, then. He should have paid more attention to the pressure creeping up along his spine. It’s true that he didn’t get much sleep as he tossed and turned over his feelings for Otabek, but he knew it wasn’t just that. It was stress. 

The times he did manage to sleep, to dream, gradually became less and less about his best friend and more about nightmare scenarios of himself falling during a performance and doing career-ending damage to his knees or of him skating out onto the ice and realizing he forgot to wear his costume or any clothing at all. The worst, the dreams that caused him to wake up gasping with his cheeks wet with tears, were the ones of him falling through the ice and drowning. 

He did his best to shake it off, though, to focus on his goal. Nerves were nothing new and even the most accomplished and prepared of skaters felt them. He told himself it was normal, that he’d be fine, he just needed to get through this and prove to himself that he was still a champion and then it would all stop. 

Only…it doesn’t. 

He flubs a triple toe loop at the beginning of his program and it’s all downhill from there. 

He tries, as he always does, to shake it off and to analyze his program to still come out strong, but his mind refuses to cooperate and instead, he tries to finish out the routine, only he falls two more times and for once in his life he’s anything but graceful as he tries to get back into position. 

He sits in the kiss and cry after and barely hears his score. He doesn’t feel Lilia’s hand on his shoulder, nor does he hear Yakov’s words.

He’s in last place. He skated last and he’s in last place. There’s always tomorrow and he might be able to redeem himself, to climb onto the podium still, but the point is…he fucked up. Big time. 

The trip back to his hotel room feels like a complete blur. He vaguely recalls taking off his costume and changing into his sleep clothes before crawling into bed. 

He should eat something, he knows. He’ll need the energy for tomorrow, but his stomach feels like it’s full of snakes and he knows if he tries he’ll probably end up being sick.

His phone chimes from his bag where he dropped it by the door, but he can’t bring himself to go get it. What’s the point anyway? Like he really wants sympathy from pork cutlet bowl about this disaster. Like he really needs a pep talk from Viktor who thinks he knows everything now that he’s a coach _and_ a competitor. 

It occurs to him that Otabek might be responsible for one of the noises his phone is making. That he might be sitting somewhere right now trying to reach Yuri, to talk to him about what happened. 

And for a moment, he’s incredibly tempted. If he were to talk to anyone at all it would be Otabek. He knows his best friend won't bullshit him and tell him, “You did your best, that’s all that matters” or some garbage like that. Not that Otabek would be cruel and tell Yuri just how badly he fucked up, but he wouldn’t make a big deal of it, either way. He’d give Yuri the opportunity to breathe, to be okay with not being okay. 

The thought has him off the bed and almost crawling over to his bag. He needs this. He doesn’t care if it makes him weak or if it’s a bad idea, he needs his best friend, he needs his rock. 

He pulls out his phone with trembling hands and unlocks it before he can even read the myriad of different messages he’s received. 

He’s got twenty text messages all told, mostly from Viktor and Yuuri. There’s a few from other skaters he really only knows in passing. Mila’s sent him a “you’ll kick ass next time” complete with about a hundred different emojis. But none from Otabek. 

It’s alright, he tells himself, he hasn’t checked all of his alerts yet. 

He opens up his missed call log to see that Yakov and Lilia both have tried to reach him and left him separate voicemails insisting that he’d better not be feeling sorry for himself and that he’s still expected to be at practice tomorrow bright and early so they can work on changing his performance to maximize his point margin. With guilt he sees that his grandfather’s tried to call as well, probably having watched his grandson’s embarrassing performance on live television. 

His chest becomes tighter and his ability to intake air suddenly becomes restricted, but he can’t deal with any of that right now, he needs to reply to Otabek. 

Only…

Only there’s nothing to reply to. 

He checks and double checks everything. His text messages, his voicemails, his missed calls, and all of his social media and messaging apps. 

There’s nothing from him, not a single thing. 

He realizes, belatedly, that Otabek might be out with the others. 

Everyone had agreed beforehand to meet up afterwards to get something to eat and to unwind before the final event. He had begrudgingly agreed to go so long as Otabek would be there, only now he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as any of them.

Which is ridiculous, it’s not as though his talent evaporated overnight, right? That’s literally impossible. It’s not as if one bad performance should be able to discredit everything else he’s ever done, it’s just that it feels almost like a death sentence, like a terminal diagnosis. 

It’s normal for a new skater to have their weak moments. It’s expected, really. Everyone anticipates that the new kid will flub a few jumps and take a few spills, but that’s what makes the sport so exciting because as the years go by that new kid will flourish into an unstoppable force. 

That is…until they begin to approach retirement. Until they lose that spark. Until they no longer enthrall their audience and instead become mediocre and predictable. Is that what’s happening to him? Is it really almost time for him to throw in the towel? 

It can’t be, he thinks. He’s only eighteen, he’s still got a few years left before he even needs to consider that, but…what the fuck had happened out there? Why is he performing like a newbie on their worst day? And why has Otabek not reached out to him? 

It’s a silly thought, he knows, to be more upset by that than anything, but he can’t pretend it doesn’t sting. He can’t pretend that in a split second he hadn't built up his ability to form a comeback over whether or not he’d have support waiting for him from the source he craves it from the most. 

But then, deep down, he supposes he knows why. It’s because Otabek doesn’t feel the same. Yuri’s fairly confident that Otabek considers him a friend, maybe even a best friend, but beyond that it stops. And he tries to make peace with it, he really does, but sometimes in moments like these he lets himself forget and his expectations end up exceeding reality by a distance that is too massive to even calculate.

He sighs and gets up, taking his phone with him. He turns on an alarm for the morning, plugs it up, and crawls back into bed. 

He dreads the morning, he dreads seeing any of them again and feeling their eyes on him, pitying him, but he knows he can’t put it off any longer and if nothing else, the sooner he gets to that point, the sooner he can move past it. Before he knows it he’s sure he’ll be back in his apartment, win or lose, and maybe then he can let himself break down in solitude the way he needs to before he can rebuild himself. 

The next day isn’t as bad as Yuri feared it would be. Of course, his fellow skaters still turn to look at him and the look in their eyes is one that makes him want to start screaming and kicking everything, but the plus side is that everyone’s too nervous and keyed up about their own performances that there’s not really any room for them to lay the sympathy on thick. 

Yuri goes to his designated spot on the ice where his coaches are already waiting for him, lectures on the tips of their tongues. He listens as best as he can, but he has this nagging feeling at his shoulder that compels him to keep looking around for his friend. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to really look until practice is over and he’s a sweaty mess. He should be glad that his practice went so well, almost as if nothing had ever happened, but he still can’t shake the feeling as though he’s forgotten something. 

It’s as he’d headed to the locker room that it all comes to a head. 

He spots Otabek, finally, but when he does he immediately goes cold all over. 

His best friend is standing off to the side, a towel thrown over his shoulder and his skates in his hand. There’s nothing unusual about that within itself, but what is unusual is that Otabek’s talking to someone. A girl. A girl who, Yuri realizes belatedly, is Mila. 

Yuri also realizes, belatedly, that Mila is flirting with him. Her hands, which she scarcely keeps to herself as is, are all over Otabek, touching his forearm, his shoulder, his chest. She’s laughing loudly, really putting her all into it Yuri can tell, even though he doesn’t think Otabek’s said anything particularly funny, but he’s too far away to actually hear them. 

Normally this wouldn’t bother him. Mila flirts. A lot. They all know this, it’s not really breaking news. Yuri doesn’t exactly resent her for it, in a way he’s almost envious because he realizes that’s something he could never do, but he never really takes it seriously. Mila likes to have fun and she likes people, it’s really as simple as that. Sometimes people take her up on it, sometimes they don’t and ultimately the world keeps spinning and Mila keeps flirting and nobody’s heart gets broken. 

Only Yuri feels like his is suddenly covered in spiderweb cracks like the ones on the windshield of his grandfather’s old car. Because Otabek isn’t turning her down. Otabek isn’t pulling away or making some excuse to go do literally anything else. And Otabek is…smiling. Not anything huge, by any means, but it’s a smile that, childishly, Yuri had thought was only for him. 

Suddenly feeling sick, he rushes to the locker room before either of them can spot him. He locks himself in a stall and, knowing he shouldn’t torture himself but unable to care right now, pulls out his phone anyway. He realizes that even though he checked his social media last night that he didn’t bother to scroll though his feed properly. It takes him a moment to find what he’s looking for and when he does his stomach sinks to the floor. 

Everyone went out last night, alright, but in the photo Mila is sitting in Otabek’s lap with her arms wrapped around his neck and he’s got his around her waist. So, that’s why, then. That’s why he didn’t bother to reach out. _He was too busy trying to get his dick wet_ , Yuri thinks with venom. 

He’s tempted to throw his phone, to watch it shatter, but he’s trying to move past that and he’s also tired of having to buy new electronics. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes. 

He can’t think about this right now. He just can’t. The competition is only in a few hours and he needs to get back into the right mindset, especially after yesterday. He can’t, he _won’t_ , let this drag him down. This is, he realizes, all he has left now. And perhaps he’s being a little dramatic, but…this is how it goes, right? You get close to someone, you start to trust them, to…love them, and then they find someone and disappear. 

It’s an ache he already knows too well, but one he’ll staunchly refuse to admit. Because that person used to be Viktor. And no, he’d never had romantic feelings for the older man, but he had loved Viktor in his own way. He’d thought of him as sort of the sibling he’d never had, an older brother to look up to and fight with. 

Viktor could be up his own ass sometimes, most of the time, but he had been there for Yuri when most people weren’t and even someone as stubborn as he was could admit to that. 

The only problem was, Viktor found Yuuri. Viktor found Yuuri and fell in love. Viktor found Yuuri and he left Russia, leaving Yuri behind. 

Of course, like the brat he is, Yuri had pursued. There was no way in hell he was letting one of the closest things to family he had outside of his grandfather slip through his fingers so easily, but it hadn’t been enough. 

He lost the Hot Springs on Ice event and Viktor didn’t even realize he’d left until a few days later. It’s not as if Viktor completely disappeared from his life in that moment, but things changed. Yuuri was now his number one priority and even though Yuri never had been, he’d at least ranked somewhere in the top five. Somewhere underneath Viktor’s gold fetish and his dog, but that was fine, he could live with it. 

It had stung, nevertheless. He realized he didn’t really have a right to complain and that he should just be happy for Viktor, but there was also a part of him that wished things could go back to the way they were. 

That pain had been lessened, however, when Otabek had come along. It wasn’t an overnight thing, but gradually over time Yuri was able to put those feelings behind him. He felt like he’d finally found something almost like a home in Otabek. 

Except now…

Now he was being forcibly evicted. Again. 

Then again, it made sense. He wasn’t the best tenant. Most of the time he didn’t know why Otabek bothered with him at all, why he put up with his shit. He’d wondered, on more than one occasion, if maybe Otabek didn’t just feel bad for him and simply stuck around because he felt like Yuri could use a friend. 

It doesn’t matter, Yuri tells himself as he wipes away fresh tears and tells himself to cut the shit right this second. The only thing that matters is winning, even if it’s only third place this time. He’s got to get up on that podium and he’s got to get a medal and then he’s got to get the fuck out of this city and back home where he can sulk and dwell in his feelings until he can’t take it anymore and he goes back to the ice to work out his aggression. 

This is the thought that carries him through the rest of the day. It’s the thought that sustains him as he laces up and checks his hair one last time. It’s this thought that causes him to keep walking as he passes Otabek who starts to say his name, but Yuri refuses to stop. 

He makes his way out to the ice and he performs. He performs until his muscles shake and sweat clouds his vision. He performs with everything he has in him and it’s flawless. The crowd goes fucking nuts, he’s nearly pelted with a bouquet of flowers, and for a brief moment he feels good. 

But he catches Otabek’s eye out in the crowd and the beginnings of a smile slip from his face completely. He skates off to the kiss and cry without looking back in Otabek’s direction and he takes a seat. 

He drinks water and tries to even out his breathing. Lilia and Yakov might as well be underwater for how well Yuri can hear them, but he tries to nod every so often to at least make it seem like he’s listening. 

His score comes in and it’s incredible, another record. He schools his features into a smile for the cameras shuttering all around him and then he’s back to the locker room where he waits until the entire thing is over. 

He manages to make it into second place and he decides he can live with it. He takes his medal and his gifts and he tries to leave, but fucking Viktor of all people is there blocking his path. 

“Yuri!!!” he exclaims, his own bronze medal swinging from his chest. “Come with us, we’re getting drinks!!!” 

“I don’t really think…” 

“Nonsense! You ditched us last night, but you’re not getting off so easy this time! Come on, we’re waiting for you!” 

Yuri lets himself be dragged to some bar a few blocks down, wishing in vain that it were possible to have someone arrested for being too goddamn cheerful. 

He figures there’s no way out of this, though, that his absence will only invite questions and he might as well get this over with now so he can be left alone later. He resolves to only stay for a few hours before he slinks off back to his hotel and then he won’t have to see any of them again at least for a month. 

When he gets inside, however, he realizes how much of a mistake this was. 

He sees it right away, Mila’s hands running through Otabek’s hair. They’re not embracing, not quite, and Yuri feels fairly certain they weren’t kissing, yet, but it’s still far too intimate and far too cozy. 

_I’m the only one who gets to do that_ , he thinks bitterly as Viktor drags him over to the bar to order a round of drinks for everyone. 

As though he can feel Yuri’s burning stare, Otabek looks in his direction and starts to take a step forward. In that moment, Yuri decides to say fuck it. Who needs a heart, anyway? Not him, that’s for goddamn sure. He’s got a silver medal and it won’t be long before he has gold again, so fuck it and fuck Otabek and fuck everyone else. 

He grabs two of the shots Viktor just ordered and downs them, one right after the other. He has no idea what it is or how good it’s even supposed to be, he only knows that it burns his throat and that it’ll help get him out of his mind sooner rather than later. 

He hears another one of Mila’s wallpaper-peeling laughs and keeps his back turned. Otabek never appears by his side, so Yuri says fuck it and takes a few more shots. 

It’s embarrassing, two hours later, because everyone else has been celebrating in moderation. For most of them, the days of getting shitfaced drunk in public are long since behind them. Now it’s all about taking just enough of the edge off because their bodies don’t handle hangovers the same way they used to. 

In the midst of the barely buzzed skaters is Yuri who is drunker than he’s ever been in his life. He’s downing shots of straight vodka because he’s so pathetically Russian and so pathetically sad, but it’s doing the job. 

It’s by the time that he’s banging his fists on the table demanding more that Yuuri suggests someone take him back to the hotel. Yuri tells him to fuck off and to not even think about putting a hand on him unless he wants to lose an appendage and after that no one seems really keen on volunteering. 

Christophe starts to, but suddenly Otabek, who Yuri had lost track of five drinks ago, is there. He’s pulling Yuri up out of his chair and telling him sternly, “Let’s go, you’ve had enough.” 

Yuri wants to kick and scream and cry and beat the living shit out of the other skater, but upon standing up he realizes his balance is skewed to the right and he can only manage to slump against Otabek’s solid frame and mutter, “Fine,” as he’s forcibly removed from the bar. 

“Sleep well, Yuri!” he hears Viktor call cheerfully and would it not end up with him on his ass, Yuri would have flipped him off with both hands. 

Otabek takes him back to the hotel and doesn’t say a word, not even as he retrieves Yuri’s key card from his pocket (“Hey, asshole, watch it!”) and lets them both inside.

He deposits Yuri on the bed before disappearing into the bathroom where he emerges with a paper cup full of water. 

“Drink this,” he orders as he moves over to Yuri’s suitcase. He digs around for a few minutes until he procures a bottle of ibuprofen. He shakes two out of the bottle and brings them over to Yuri. “Take these. And finish your water, I’ll get you some more.” 

They go on like this for a little while, Otabek giving him more water until Yuri feels like he’ll be sick if he drinks anything else. 

Otabek takes the empty cup silently and Yuri closes his eyes. For a moment, he thinks Otabek’s left. That somehow he managed to slip out without making a sound, but when he opens his eyes he finds the other man staring at him from where he sits on the small couch across from the bed. 

“Can I fucking help you?” Yuri spits, instantly regretting it as he sees Otabek flinch. 

“I should be asking you that. What’s going on with you?” he asks and there’s something almost like concern in his voice. It makes Yuri want to cry or throw up. Possibly both. 

“Nothing’s going on with me, I can’t have a drink? I can’t celebrate recovering from a humiliating performance?” 

“It’s more than that. You can tell me, Yura.” 

Yuri snorts at that and rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, cut the bullshit. Like you fucking care. Haven’t you got better shit to do? Or better people, I guess I should say,” he adds on before he can stop himself. 

He might just be imaging it, but he swears Otabek goes rigid at that. His voice, however, never betrays whatever it is he’s feeling. “Is this about Mila?” 

“I dunno. Is it?” Yuri asks like the snotty child he is. 

“It’s not like whatever you think it is.” 

“And what do I think it is?” Yuri challenges. 

“You think we’re together or that we’re hooking up because she’s been all over me. I can see where you’d get that impression, but I assure you, Yura, it’s not like that. I’m not interested in her and I think tonight she finally gets it.” 

Yuri pauses at that, wondering if he should believe what Otabek’s telling him. He’s never lied to him before, at least not as far as he knows, and he can’t really think of a valid reason for why he’d be lying about this, but he’s built up a lot around this emotion he’s experiencing and he’s not really willing to let it go without a fight. 

“What’s different about tonight?” 

“Tonight she asked me to come back to her room and I told her no,” Otabek says simply, like it’s not even a big deal and he gets asked this kind of thing all the time, and god, that’s a scenario that makes Yuri’s blood boil. 

“Right, because you were too busy bringing my drunken ass back here, well…I’m fine, Prince Charming, you can go fuck your lady fair now!” Yuri snaps. 

“I turned her down before you got drunk. Your inebriated state has nothing to do with it. I’ve tried politely refusing to reciprocate her physical affections without being a jerk. I want to be her friend, I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I’ve let her talk to me, but I haven’t touched her, I don’t want to touch her. I’m not interested and now she knows.” 

Yuri sucks his bottom lip between his teeth for a few minutes, afraid of what he’ll say if he doesn’t. So Otabek isn’t interested after all. Mila was just being Mila and he let his jealously get the best of him. He made an ass out of himself all over something that wasn’t even his to begin with. All over a guy who he can’t be with anyway, he thinks, and it’s with that thought that the tears begin. 

“Yura?” Otabek asks as he suddenly appears at Yuri’s side. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you going to be sick? Talk to me, Yura, I’m here.” 

“It’s not…it’s not fair!” Yuri wails, causing Otabek to pull back for just a second before he moves to sit next to Yuri on the bed. His arm wraps around Yuri’s shoulder and Yuri buries his face against Otabek’s chest before he can think better of it. 

“What’s not fair, Yura?” he asks quietly, his fingers stroking Yuri’s braids that have started to come loose. 

“It’s not…it’s not fair that I…I can’t…I could never…oh god,” he whimpers and has to let himself sob against Otabek for a few minutes longer before he can even attempt speaking again. “It’s not fair because I…I’m broken, Beka! I’m fucking…I’m broken. I get so…so fucking jealous sometimes because everyone else…it’s like everyone gets to have that, y’know?” he rambles and Otabek, to his credit, tries to follow along. 

“Gets to have what, Yura?” 

“Fucking…love! Relationships! Intimacy! S-sex…” He chokes around another sob and suddenly pulls himself out of Otabek’s embrace. 

He crawls up the bed until his head hits one of the pillows where he proceeds to curl himself into a ball while wrapping his arms around the other pillow and presses his face against it. 

It takes several deep breaths before he’s able to calm down enough to speak and somewhere in that time he’s vaguely aware of Otabek shifting further up the bed to be close to him, although he seems to sense that Yuri doesn’t want to be touched right now, so he keeps his hands to himself. 

Perhaps it’s the alcohol or the bullshit feelings he’s been carrying around, but it all comes tumbling out before he can stop it. 

“When I was…when I was eight, my mom she…she finally moved on. From my dad, I mean. He’d been dead for a little while and even though treating me like shit was keeping her alive, I guess she needed…something else. So, she met this guy, Eduard. He was alright, at first. I hated that she was moving on, I hated that my dad wasn’t there anymore, but I figured…I figured maybe it’d take some of the heat off me, y’know?” 

“I understand,” Otabek says and Yuri nods minutely and continues on. 

“For a little while it worked. She was so busy with him and their relationship that she forgot about me, which I didn’t mind because it meant she wasn’t berating me or beating me at every turn and it was…nice. I was able to focus more on skating and on getting stronger. Everything was going great until…until my mom had to leave town… There was some family drama, I still don’t really know what because she purposefully kept them at arm’s length, but I guess something major happened and she had to be there so…so Eduard was there to watch me.” 

He feels Otabek shift, almost as though he’s about to say something, to tell Yuri to stop because he knows what’s coming, but he remains silent, so Yuri pushes himself to finish the story. 

“I didn’t…I didn’t know what was happening. I know that sounds really stupid, but I just…I didn’t. Nothing happened the first night, everything was fine. He made dinner, we watched TV, and then I went to bed and that was it. But the second night he…he made me dinner, we watched TV, and then he told me to get ready for bed, but to wait for him. So I did. I thought maybe he wanted to talk or something, maybe he was going to tell me what was going on with my mom, but he just…he came into my room, he told me how beautiful he thought I was and then I…I don’t really like remembering the rest.” 

Yuri falls silent and keeps his eyes down. He can’t look at Otabek right now, he can’t. He can’t see the disappointment or disgust or whatever it is he must be feeling, he just can’t do it. He’s not ready to lose his best friend and so maybe if he just doesn’t look it won’t happen. 

Several seconds of silence drag by before Otabek speaks, causing Yuri to flinch violently. 

“Was that the only time?” he asks, and from anyone else Yuri would think it was sick curiosity, but there’s something in Otabek’s voice, something deadly, that compels him to answer. 

“It…it happened a few…a few more times. I don’t remember how many. My mom never found out, but she did start taking her anger out on him for other shit. Which was nice in a way, to see someone else have to deal with that, but as soon as he was gone I was her favorite target again.” 

Yuri pauses and Otabek’s silent, he’s not even moving and it’s putting Yuri’s nerves on edge, but he can’t do it, he can’t turn around. He takes a deep breath and figures he may as well do this properly, he might as well make Otabek hate him completely and maybe then he can see if Mila’s offer is still available. 

“I know that what happened to me was…it was wrong, I know that. In a way, though…in a way it…it was the first time in a long time someone touched me like they loved me.” His voice gets stuck in his throat and the pillow tucked underneath his chin is wet with tears. “This was…this was back when my mom hardly ever let me see my grandfather and it was just the two of us, all the time, and she just hit me fucking constantly. I didn’t have any friends, I had a coach who handled me like I was made of glass, and in some sick, messed up way just for a moment it felt like someone…someone actually wanted to take care of me. It was only after when I realized how much I hurt and when he told me not to tell anyone that I realized it was still abuse, but I…I can’t do things…I can’t think about intimacy and relationships and…and sex without… That’s the only…” he stops, shaking his head because he can’t get his words to come out. He takes a deep breath and tries again, “That’s the only experience I had with any of it and I see how fucking easy it is for everyone else and I just feel…I feel like I’m…defective.” 

He bites his lip to hold back a sob, he’s sure by this point he’s already freaked Otabek out or disgusted him so completely that he’s having a hard time finding words to express his grossed out he is. He doesn’t deserve Otabek’s pity, doesn’t deserve his presence here. He shouldn’t have drank, he shouldn’t have let the whole thing with Mila get to him. It was all so stupid and pointless and now he’s told, he can’t take it back, he can’t pretend like this didn’t happen. 

He’s going to lose his best friend because he was too fucking stupid and hot-headed. The best thing that had ever happened to him, the closest he’s ever allowed himself to be with someone, and he’s ruined it in a matter of minutes. This, he realizes, hurts worse than any shit performance. 

“Can you just…go now?” he asks, trying for anger but it comes off more as pathetic which only makes him want to cry harder. “I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you, I didn’t mean to, but you don’t have to do anything with it. You don’t have to pretend to feel sorry for me, I know how fucked up it is, you can just…go, I’m not going to stop you.” 

He closes his eyes and tries to bury as much of his face as he can into the soggy pillow so that he doesn’t have to see Otabek getting up to leave. He waits to feel it, to feel the bed’s weight shift as Otabek slides off. He waits to hear Otabek’s footsteps on the flat carpet as he makes his way to the door. 

He waits and he waits and waits and just when he thinks about daring to take a peek, to see if Otabek really did slip out without a sound, he feels it. 

He feels Otabek’s arms wrapping around him. He feels himself being pulled close to his best friend’s chest. He feels Otabek take his hands, prying them away from their death grip on the pillow, to lace their fingers together as he pulls their joined hands against Yuri’s chest. He’s positive that Otabek can feel how rapidly his heart’s beating, but Otabek doesn’t say anything about it. 

Instead, he holds Yuri close and whispers, “You’re not broken, Yura, and you’re not disgusting. I don’t pity you, but I ache for the pain you’ve endured. I know there are no words I could give to you that would take your pain away, but I’m here for you now. You don’t have to hide yourself from me, Yura. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me your story, but please don’t be ashamed with me, I’ll never judge you, especially not for that. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, any of it. You’ve known more loss than I can fathom, so I can’t tell you how you should feel, but I want you to know that I don’t see you the way you see yourself. You’re still my soldier and I’m still your friend. Always.” 

Yuri doesn’t remember turning around in Otabek’s arms, doesn’t remember burying his face in his friend’s neck or sobbing like it’s the end of the world, but he remembers whispering, “Thank you,” before he falls asleep.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry I'm a little behind with the update, I wanted to try to have a new chapter up at least every weekend, but I got busy and junk. Aaaaaanyway, I'm back now with a brand new, sparkly update which is...I dunno, still bittersweet? Still got that angst? I'll leave it at that, so as always...enjoy? 
> 
> PS: again, minor references to child abuse, nothing graphic.
> 
> PPS: Thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos!! I really do appreciate those. <3

When Yuri wakes up, he’s alone. 

This observation in and of itself isn’t odd until the night from before comes rushing back to him. The competition. Mila. Otabek. Getting drunk. Otabek dragging him back to the hotel. Yuri getting angry with him and all of his pent up jealously spilling forth, resulting in a complete meltdown in which he spilled his darkest secret. Otabek holding him close and telling him it was okay. Falling asleep in Otabek’s embrace… 

Yuri sits up and regrets it instantly as his head pounds. It feels as though his brain lags a few steps behind the rest of his body and he can almost visualize it sloshing around in his skull. There’s a dull edge to the pain, helped by the medicine Otabek made him take last night, but it’s still unpleasant nevertheless. 

Wincing, he surveys the room hoping to see Otabek somewhere, perhaps sitting in the makeshift living room with breakfast or lacing up his boots. He sees nothing except for standard, boring hotel room décor and his own belongings scattered unceremoniously on the floor. 

He looks to the bathroom, hopeful still, wanting to find the door closed, to hear the sound of a faucet or shower running. The door stands open, mockingly, and there’s no movement from inside. 

_So that’s it, then_ , Yuri thinks, _you scared him away._

He experiences this emotion with complete resignation. There’s a part of him that wants to be sad about it, to break down and cry some more, but for one, he’s pretty sure he’s used up all his tears for the time being and for another, he’s prepared himself for this for a long time. 

He never knew who it would be or when or how, exactly, but he’d long ago prepared himself for the possibility of someone finding out. Naturally, he’d done everything in his power to try to prevent that. He'd tried his best to maintain an arms-length distance in all his relationships and favored yelling about non-issues instead of talking about the true source of his rage. Regardless, though, a lifetime of abuse had taught him how to brace for another blow. A lifetime of unprovoked, unexpected violence had taught him to never get his hopes up and that disappointment was something of an inevitability. The best that he could do, in those situations and with this, was to be prepared for when everything would eventually fall apart. 

And now that it had, there was a strange sense of relief in it all. Relief in having finally told someone, of course, but also in having his worst fears confirmed. 

He vaguely recalls some bullshit advice Viktor had tried to give him once, about how the fear of something is always greater than the thing itself. He’d been talking about trying a new quad jump, but the same applied here, he supposed. 

He’d been afraid, but tried anyway, he fell, and now all there was left to do was pick himself up from the figurative ice and move on with his life. 

Still, losing Otabek was a huge blow, he had to admit as he threw back the covers and eased himself out of bed. Realistically he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore, not in the way he had been growing up. Even if most of his friends, as he begrudgingly acknowledged as such, were usually busy with their own lives or romances, he knew his corner wasn’t completely empty. It’s just that Otabek had been different. Otabek had been special. 

He could remember as a kid watching his peers, day in and day out. They all had someone, even the kids on the outermost circles. Everyone had a best friend or a group of friends which made his entire scholastic experience yet another living nightmare because he was no one’s best friend and part of no group. 

It made sense, he knew. His tendency towards anger and violence, as well as his extreme aversion to physical contact of any kind, tended to put him at odds with the other kids his age. He’d once kicked another student who tried to touch his shoulder so hard that the kid nearly ruptured something and Yuri had gotten into horrific trouble with his mother over the entire incident. After that, everyone left him alone. 

When he enrolled in online education in order to pursue his career in skating some of the pressure was relieved, although he still saw other people and their stupid, special relationships amongst his teammates and competitors. 

For a group of kids who were all trying to best one another it seemed baffling to him how well they all got along. He couldn’t understand cheering for an opponent, but then again he couldn’t understand caring about someone enough to want to, even if they weren’t rivals. 

When he met Otabek, though, everything changed. He still wanted to win, more than anything, but he can remember surprising himself when he called out for good luck to his best friend and how Otabek offered him a thumbs up in return. 

From that moment forward, Otabek had become his special person. He never used to understand how people could sit around and just talk about boring shit from their day-to-day lives, and yet suddenly he found himself texting Otabek constantly throughout the day to tell him about Yakov’s latest outburst or about how he found himself missing Japanese food. And not only that, but he found it just as interesting when Otabek texted him back to tell him about how his siblings were doing in school or about the repairs he needed to do on his bike. It’s not that he never cared about anyone before, it’s just that he felt safe with Otabek; protected. 

But now…

Now Otabek was gone. And that was that, he supposed. 

_At least_ , he thinks to himself as he sets about changing his clothes, _at least I got to have that for a little while. At least I got to experience what everyone else does, even if it was only for a little while._

He sighs as he starts to gather up his belongings and stuff them back into his suitcase. The good news is, he gets to go home now. He gets to see his grandfather and he doesn’t have to face any uncomfortable interactions with his now ex-best friend. 

He wonders how long it will be before he has to see Otabek in person again and hopes, for whatever good that does, that it won’t be for a long time. Perhaps if there’s enough time Otabek will somehow forget and they can go back to being just competitors and nothing more. 

Yuri feels something wet hit the back of his hand and it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize it’s from the fresh set of tears that are falling down his face. 

“Damn…” he whispers as he wipes them away furiously. 

_Looks like I can still cry after all_ , he muses as he jams his toiletries back into their case. 

He doesn’t have time for this. He can’t sit here and break down like some pathetic loser, he has to get his shit together, literally, and get the hell out of here. He’s got a flight to catch in a few hours and he needs to hold it together until he’s safe in his apartment where he can do whatever he needs to in order to work past these feelings. 

He’s so distracted by his self-scolding that he almost misses his phone chiming. 

“Huh?” he mutters as he stalks over once he realizes the sound's not coming from the overhead fan whirring away in the bathroom ceiling. 

He illuminates the screen and sees Otabek’s name appear before he sees anything else. 

A text message. 

He clicks his phone to dim the screen, his hands shaking. He can’t deal with this. Not right now. He needs to save this for later. 

He starts to walk back to the bathroom to finish packing up his things, turns around and walks back, scolds himself and turns around once more. He does this for what feels like hours before he snatches his phone up and powers it off, his hand hovering over the lower half of the screen so that he doesn’t accidentally read any of the message as it appears once more, taunting him. 

With his phone now off he feels like he can breathe a little easier. He pulls his charger out of the wall, warps it around his phone, and buries both items in the bottom of his suitcase. 

A pang of anxiety flairs up in him; his phone’s always been something of a security blanket and a crutch for the feelings he doesn’t want to deal with, but he knows he’ll be too tempted to read Otabek’s message, no doubt confirming the dissolution of their friendship, while he tries to innocently check his Instagram. 

He finishes packing up his things, takes one last look around the room, and heads downstairs to check out. 

Everything else after that is a bit of a blur. He meets up with his coaches and his teammates. They catch the shuttle to the airport where of-fucking-course their flight is delayed by two hours. Normally Yuri would spend the time wandering around the airport and taking selfies or trying to curl up in the uncomfortable airport seats to catch a nap, but he feels too overwhelmed to do any of that. 

Instead, he buys a Sudoku puzzle book from a giftshop and spends his time filling in numbers and erasing dead ends in frustration while he dutifully ignores Viktor who’s sulking a few seats down while he FaceTimes with his fiancé. 

“I wish that you were here, Yuuri, this is awful! Tell me again when you’ll be here,” he’s pleading. 

“In two weeks, Viktor,” Yuri hears the slightly muffled sound of Pork Cutlet Bowl’s voice on the other end. “I need to pack my things and spend a little time with my family and then I’ll be there with you.” 

Viktor sighs dramatically and god help this airport if this fucker starts crying, Yuri thinks with a scowl. He cannot take Viktor’s pining bullshit right now. 

Fortunately it’s about this time that their flight is finally ready and they begin boarding for first class. 

“Oi, Viktor! Say goodbye to your precious piggy, we’ve got to go!” he yells as he tosses his Sudoku book in his backpack and makes his way for the front of the line. He’s tried to be less of an asshole over the years, he really has, but today it feels good to take some of his frustration out on Viktor, especially since he knows all the older man’s going to do is smile that shit-eating grin of his and say something annoying. 

“Aww, Yuuri, I think our Yurio misses you! In any case, he’s right, I must go now! I’ll message you as soon as we land!” 

Yuri rolls his eyes up to the heavens and studiously tunes Viktor out as he starts making all kinds of gross kissy noises at his phone. Honestly, a thirty-year-old man should not behave like that, especially in public. 

He scoffs some more, but the line starts to move and he’s able to put it out of his mind as he shoves his way to his seat and throws himself into it. He waits until take off when the use of his iPod isn’t going to bring the plane crashing back to the ground (although there’s something slightly appealing about that, he has to admit) before he jams his headphones in and is finally able to drift off to a restless sleep. 

When they land, he makes a beeline for a taxi, throwing his belongings in the trunk and sliding into the backseat before his teammates can even notice he’s broken away from the hurdle. He’ll get chewed out for it later, he’s sure. He knows Yakov likes to keep them together and is a big believer in ceremony and things being done the proper way, and taking off before they have a chance to bid one another goodbye is a sign of disrespect, but Yuri can’t deal with it right now. Besides, he’ll be seeing all these assholes again in a few weeks, he doesn’t see what the big deal is. 

Regardless, he does feel a little guilty as the taxi zips through the city and takes him home. In spite of what anyone might think, he’s not as careless and self-centered as he comes off. His actions do make him feel guilty, from time to time, it’s just that these are his survival tactics, this is what’s kept him alive for so long. To do anything else would feel counter-intuitive. 

Still, he needs to be better, he knows this. Perhaps if he had been better Otabek might have stuck it out…

He shakes the thought from his head. He can’t go there right now. He’s already dreading the message that’s waiting for him, he can’t add to that right now unless he wants to traumatize his cab driver by having another embarrassing outburst. 

All too soon he finds himself outside his apartment building. He digs the cab fare out of his pocket along with a tip and passes it to the driver who nods in thanks before pulling away from the curb. 

_This is it_ , he thinks, _you’re home now. You can do whatever you need to in order to get past this, you just have to go inside._

He’s tempted to remain outside until the end of time. Perhaps he can make friends with the alley cats that tend to hang around his building. Dumpster diving really isn’t so bad once you think about it. 

Unfortunately, a bitter Russian wind sweeps down the street and through Yuri's fantasies of slumming it. He's propelled instead to scamper his way inside before the chill can really seep into his bones. 

He makes his way inside and to his apartment on autopilot, his key sliding into the lock before he even has a chance to second guess himself. 

When he gets inside, everything’s quiet. His beloved cat is still at his grandfather’s. He’ll pick her up tomorrow, although he wishes now that he’d already gotten her so that at least there’d be some sign of life before him. Instead, it’s only silence and darkness that greet his return. _Fitting,_ he thinks.

He takes his time settling back in, his movements languid as he flips on all the lights in the hopes that he’ll feel a little less alone, and in some way it does seem to help. He plugs his iPod into a docking station he keeps in the living room and puts it on shuffle as he deposits his suitcase and backpack in his bedroom. 

He's stalling, he knows, as he takes a shower and afterward sets about fixing himself something to eat. It’s once his hair’s long since dried and after he’s done something he never does and washes his dishes right after eating that he realizes he can’t put this off any longer, that he’s being ridiculous. 

Allowing himself a moment to gather his courage in the doorway of his bedroom, Yuri forces himself to go over to his suitcase, to dig around inside for a few minutes, and to eventually retrieve his phone after his fingers have already brushed over it several times. 

It takes the device a few seconds to come back to life and upon waking up Yuri sees that sure enough, he’s got more missed calls from Yakov and Lilia. 

_Can’t they give it a fucking rest?_ he thinks as he unlocks his phone. 

His irritation is distraction enough to allow him to open his text messages and pull up Otabek’s before he can talk himself out of it, although he does allow himself a moment to close his eyes once it's actually in front of him. 

No matter what, he’s not going to be upset with Otabek. He can’t be. Yes, last night he’d assured Yuri that nothing was his fault and that they would still be friends, but everything had happened so fast and Yuri was such a fucking mess that he probably forced Otabek’s hand. 

Otabek is a nice guy, he knows that. Quiet and somewhat intimidating, but nevertheless a generous and kind person. He wouldn’t have just dumped Yuri on his ass to deal with his breakdown on his own, he would have stuck through it and then made his quiet exit and honestly, Yuri can’t blame him. 

He’d laid a lot of shit on him last night, shit Otabek didn’t ask for and certainly didn’t need to know. Yuri knows he has a tendency to overestimate things sometimes, especially when it comes to relationships, and it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if he were to find that Otabek had really only been politely indulging him this entire time. Perhaps it was what he’d done with Mila. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings, so he allowed her to carry on with her flirtations for a while until he had to make it absolutely clear that he wasn’t interested. 

The same was surely true here, right? He’d allowed Yuri to open up to him gradually, but hadn’t wanted to hurt him by asserting the boundary of his investment in their friendship until Yuri had pushed too hard against said boundary and now Otabek was forced to make the line clear to him. 

_It makes sense_ , he tells himself as he opens his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath and plunges in, his heart braced for impact. 

[](http://s14.photobucket.com/user/cutupangel27/media/beka%20text%201_zps80bf7vqe.jpg.html)

Instantaneously, what feels like a century’s worth of relief floods Yuri’s system. 

He reads Otabek’s message over and over again for the better part of an hour before he finally allows himself to fall into his bed, a smile spread across his face so wide that he knows his cheeks will be sore later. 

Otabek hasn’t left him, he’s still his friend. Yuri hasn’t lost his special person. 

He realizes that Otabek asked him to let him know of his safe return and although he’s pretty sure Otabek will be asleep by now, he texts him back anyway. 

[](http://s14.photobucket.com/user/cutupangel27/media/beka%20text%206_zpsokxryknz.jpg.html)

He hits send, his fingers still hovering over the letters. He bites his lip and decides, “Fuck it,” before he double texts. 

[](http://s14.photobucket.com/user/cutupangel27/media/beka%20text%205_zps3lohhcip.jpg.html)

He sighs contently for a change and gets up to dig his charger out so that he can go to bed. 

Just as he’s plugging his phone up, a response comes through from Otabek:

[](http://s14.photobucket.com/user/cutupangel27/media/beka%20text%207_zpsues557o3.jpg.html)

Yuri falls asleep that night with his hand wrapped around his phone. It’s not as good as having Otabek there with him, but it’s close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got fancy adding in some images of their texts. I might try to go back and do the same for their Skype conversations, but we'll see! I used a simulator and the best one I could find wouldn't let me edit the battery life so you can either imagine Yuri somehow has the most sustainable known to man or just imagine the number gradually going down, your choice. XD


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! This is your captain speaking and I'd like to thank you for choosing Reckoner Airlines. At this time I will be turning on the fasten seatbelt sign as we are about to experience some turbulence. We'll be experiencing mild to heavy angst as we continue our journey. Rest assured, folks, you're in good hands! I want to issue a special warning for mentions of child physical and sexual abuse for this leg of the journey, so travelers please take caution. Thank you for your time, comments, and kudos!

In the wake of his breakdown, Yuri anticipates his life being completely different. He expects that once the reality truly sets in, once the shame settles a little deeper in his bones, that he’ll feel differently. He’s almost disappointed, then, to find that life is still more or less the same. 

He still wakes up too early, grueling routine schedules that he’s kept since childhood robbing him of the joys of sleeping in on his off days. He still eats the same foods, everything low carb and high protein except for the occasional cheat snack here and there because his metabolism can afford it. 

He still does the same exercises even when he’s not at the rink or in the studio, pushing himself to jump a little higher or bend a little further. He sticks to mostly cardio and yoga to maintain his figure and keep his body elastic. 

His hobbies are still the same, mostly social media immersion, gaming, and streaming of his favorite TV shows and movies while he shops online and spends quality time with his beloved cat, Yulia. 

Everything in his life is still the same, only…it’s not. 

It’s not because he now spends most of his time on needles and pins waiting for the ball to drop, even still. 

Otabek had done more than enough to reassure him that everything was fine, that he didn’t judge Yuri or see him differently and that he wouldn’t tell anyone and yet…

Yet it still feels like at any moment the other shoe is going to drop. 

He blames it on the distance between them, on the fact that his Skype connection isn’t as clear as he’d like and so when they video chat it’s hard to really see what’s in Otabek’s guarded gaze. He’s good at reading his best friend, but he can only work so much with blurry pixelization. 

If they could see one another in person, if he could see that his presence near Otabek wouldn’t cause him to flinch or to avert his gaze, then perhaps it would be different, but for the time being he has to try to trust what someone else is telling him and that’s never been a strong suit of his. 

His life is also changed by the fact that his nightmares have begun to take on a familiar and unwelcome form once more. 

He’s had the same dream several times throughout the course of his life and it’s always the same: His childhood bedroom, dark and claustrophobic. The sound of a door opening, creaking far more than he ever remembered his door creaking. The shuffle of sinister footsteps that seem to be coming from all corners of his room before they stop right next to him. His name being called in two voices, one that’s calm and questioning and another that’s screaming and pleading. 

He tries every time to hide under the covers before they’re ripped away and seem to disappear completely as they sail towards the ceiling. Several pairs of hands grab him, pull him, bend him, twist him, attempt to rip him into pieces and he cries. 

He cries and sobs and wails, but there’s no sound coming from his lips. He tries over and over to say something, anything, but his words come out incomprehensible and small and he can only choke around the frailty of it all. 

He wants a savior, a hero. Over the course of his life this role is played by many different actors: his father, his grandfather, Yakov, Viktor, and finally Otabek. His hero is always there, somewhere, but he can never seem to get to Yuri. He’s drowning or drinking or yelling or deaf or vanishing right before his eyes and all that’s left is the same repetition of words that choke and strangle him. 

_“So beautiful…”_

_“You’re so good for me, aren’t you, Yuri?”_

_“You love this, don’t you?”_

_“I’m going to take care of you.”_

_“You’re mine. You’re all mine. No one else gets to have you like this. You belong to me.”_

_“Look at me, Yuri. Let me see those eyes of yours.”_

_“It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You trust me, don’t you?”_

_“Don’t cry, angel, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”_

He always wakes up the same, his sheets twisted around himself, his pillows on the floor, and tears streaming down his face as he struggles to catch his breath. It takes him a long while to calm down, usually an hour or so. He spends that time curled in a ball amidst the chaos he’s created of his bed while a tremor runs its boney fingers up and down his spine. 

When it finally passes the first thing he does is find Yulia. She’s always put off when he finds her, understandably so. She likes to sleep curled up next to his side and it breaks his heart knowing that he scares her into running off when he gets like this. 

He'll spend some time coaxing her out of whatever hiding spot she’s chosen with her favorite toys and extra treats and by the time she finally lets him pick her up and carry her back to bed he’s exhausted. 

It’s a routine they both know and begrudgingly accept. Of course at some point his nightmares had transformed and started to take on the shape of more generalized anxieties, mostly to do with upcoming competitions. These were never quite as severe and for a time Yulia had been able to rest comfortably by his side. Now, though, it's no longer safe. Yuri, unsure of how long this will last, buys her a separate cat bed to give her the option of having some place else to rest while he deals with his nightly torment. 

Now that he’s opened the door to his past once more it appears his nightmares from before have taken on the form of a vampire who merely needed an invitation to slink inside and attempt to drain him of life. 

He thinks about calling Otabek after his third episode in a week, but can’t seem to bring himself to do it. They’d only talked about it once after that infamous night and it had really only been for Otabek to reassure Yuri. They had left it at that and Yuri was perfectly content to never broach the subject with him ever again and so calling him now would completely ruin that. 

He worries as is that he's put too much on his best friend’s shoulders by telling him. He knows it’s a heavy burden to bear, he’s been doing it all his life, he shouldn’t have invited someone else into it. In some ways, he thinks late at night, it’s really no better than what his abusers did to him. They saddled his shoulders with weight too heavy for any one person to carry and selfishly, in trying to relieve some of that weight, he’d done the same to Otabek, hadn’t he? 

He realizes that logically the actions are not the same, but is the intention? He doesn’t know and dwelling on it for too long makes him feel itchy under his skin, so he tries his best to put it out of his mind. He also tries his best to steer their conversations in a different direction any time it even vaguely sounds like Otabek is about to ask him if he’s okay or wants to talk about anything, even going so far as to fake an incoming phone call to cut Otabek off when he begins to say, “Yuri, I wanted to ask you if you’re…” 

“Sorry, my phone’s on silent, but it won’t stop ringing, I’d better take this! Hold on!” he says quickly as he snatches up his phone and ducks out of frame of his laptop. 

He hears Otabek murmur, “Of course, take your time…” and feels guilt squirm deep in his gut. 

In part, he’s sure he isn’t being fair. Otabek’s trying to meet him halfway, but he just…can’t. He can’t allow it. He can’t go any further. He regrets having pushed on this far and going beyond that would just be stepping off a cliff’s edge. 

When he finishes his one-sided conversation with supposedly Yakov he smiles apologetically and Otabek never finishes his sentence. There’s an unspoken understanding in that moment for which Yuri is grateful and from that point forward neither of them bring up the subject. 

Still, in moments when the sweat is finally cooling on his skin as he straightens out his sheets he can’t help but feel an itch to reach for his phone and at least text Otabek. He resists and instead falls into a light sleep that carries him into the morning where he can breathe a little easier knowing that the monsters that hold him captive at night will be forced back into the shadows. 

He trains and skates and stretches and runs and puts all thoughts that aren’t about winning out of his mind. He pushes himself to the point of exhaustion in the hopes that he’ll reach that pitch black void of sleep in which his dreams are of so little consequence that he won't recall a single face upon waking. 

These are his good days, the ones he dresses himself up in like armor only to be stripped away completely by a single bad dream in which he’s forced to begin the process all over again. 

He’s drifting, he knows. He blames it on his career, on his need to stay focused and to win, but he suspects Otabek knows better. 

If he does, he never says it and that’s his annoyingly considerate way. He won’t call Yuri on anything he’s not equipped to handle. He knows where the line is, knows how to walk right up to it, but he never crosses it and it’s for this reason among many others that Yuri considers him such a good friend. Sometimes, though, he wishes Otabek would. Sometimes he wishes, in the same way he wished that someone would acknowledge his anger for pain instead of teen angst, that Otabek would at least knock upon that door a little harder. 

Instead, he seems to pick up on Yuri’s attitude about the whole thing and gives him space. And it’s noble and thoughtful and obviously the right thing to do, it’s what Yuri’s conveying to him that he wants, but in Otabek’s absence is the same crushing loneliness from before. The same empty feeling that he tried to paint over with his anger is seeping through again. The problem is, he’s not a kid anymore, he’s an adult. He’s an adult trying to make a serious name for himself and because of that, he can’t get by with flying off the handle while he screams and kicks at everything in sight. 

He can be a bit of an asshole, sure, Viktor’s kind of an asshole too, but it’s not enough to compensate for the Otabek-shaped hole in his life that’s gradually taking on a more solid form with each passing day. 

It’s not that they don’t keep in contact at all, they still try, it’s just not the same and Yuri has only himself to blame for that. The guilt of it all tends to swallow him up most days and so instead of responding to Otabek’s texts immediately like he was once apt to do, he tends to wait hours, sometimes even days, before responding. 

They still schedule times to Skype, but Yuri feels like he’s out on the ice trying to perform, to be someone else, and it wears him down to the bone pretty quickly. After barely an hour he’s yawning and signing off, his eyes studiously avoiding Otabek’s expression because if he sees anything akin to relief on his best friend’s face in response to his own early departure then he’ll known it’s all over between them and he’s not ready to let go, not just yet. 

The worst part is, he knows he’s the one doing this. That Otabek isn’t pushing him away, that the part of his mind that tries to link Otabek’s actions to such behavior is highly irrational and paranoid beyond belief, but he feels helpless, as though he’s trapped in the passenger seat of a car headed for certain destruction. 

He knows he’s the one cutting the threads that hold them together and yet his hands seem to move without his command and he watches on, disassociated, as he pulls them apart piece by piece. 

Before long, he’s ignoring Otabek’s texts altogether. He’s set his Skype status to always be ‘offline’ and his presence on any form of social media takes such a rapid decline that Yuri’s Angels begin debating about whether or not they should contact the police about filing a missing persons report. 

He throws himself into his craft, but even that begins to lose the appeal he once credited his survival to. 

His coaches yell at him and demand to know what’s gotten into him, what his problem is, and his teammates just look on in concern, but dare not to approach him. 

Of all people, Pork Cutlet Bowl tries to reach out to him. 

His training schedule has usually been at a different time than Yuri’s, one of Viktor’s ideas in order to ensure the ‘element of surprise’, he’s sure, so it’s a little odd to see the Japanese skater gliding out onto the ice to meet him. 

“Hi, Yurio,” he greets him, accompanied with that shy smile of his. “Mind if I skate with you?” 

Yuri shrugs, resisting the urge to bark at him about that stupid fucking nickname. “Sure, it’s your rink, too.” 

Yuuri frowns at that, but doesn’t say anything. He instead pushes off as Yuri does and stays by his side as he circles the rink a few times, the will to practice jumps alluding him. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…are you okay?” Yuuri says after almost half an hour’s worth of silence. 

Yuri tenses at that, the familiar punch of “Why the fuck do you care?” crawling up his throat like acid reflux. He manages to swallow it back and instead chooses his words carefully, “I’m fine. There’s just a lot going on right now.” He sees Yuuri’s shoulders relax and congratulates himself on having hopefully delivered an answer satisfactory enough to end this conversation. 

“I understand. You know, I tend to get overwhelmed pretty easily. I get anxious a lot, even about the smallest things, but it helps talking to someone. Do you…have someone you can talk to?” 

Yuri clenches his jaw, Otabek’s name pressed against the back of his teeth. “Yeah, of course,” he grits out. 

“Oh?” 

He doesn’t want to, but his defensiveness flairs up. “Just because I’m not part of your little gang of pathetic loser competitors doesn’t mean I don’t have anyone to talk to, pig!” 

He flinches, hating that he let himself get so worked up over Yuuri’s simple, and completely justified, inquiry. It’s a low blow, he knows. It took Yuuri a while to work up the courage, but he’d finally told everyone one night that although he really appreciated the love and support and investment of his friends and supporters that the comments about his weight and appearance were unnecessary and unhelpful. Yuri remembers respecting him in that moment and vowed to do his best to never bring it up again and yet he still gravitated towards it in his worst moments. 

Yuri stops, his skates scratching harshly against the ice as he hangs his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just…I have people I can talk to, okay?” 

Yuuri hums and Yuri can make out the other skater nodding in understanding. 

“It’s alright, Yurio, I understand, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry if I pried, I’m just concerned for you, we all are. You’ve not been behaving like yourself lately and I wanted you to know that if you needed it, I’m here for you to talk to. So is Viktor and Mila and even Georgi, although I think he’s really just hoping someone will ask him about his new girlfriend.” 

Amazingly, that manages to get a laugh out of Yuri and for a minute it almost feels like life’s okay again. He looks up to see Yuuri smiling at him, but then he reaches up to push his glasses back into place and Yuri sees his engagement ring and the laughter dies in his throat. Right. Yuuri’s a normal person. Yuuri, for all his own struggles and problems, found love. Yuuri’s engaged, he’s in the process of planning a wedding. He can have these things and it’s okay. He probably doesn’t wake up from nightmares about being raped and beaten and twisted into an ugly sort of anger that pushes everyone who ever tries to get close away. He can have these things because he deserves them, but Yuri…Yuri doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve them the same way he doesn’t deserve Yuuri’s kindness and friendship. He doesn’t deserve them the same way he damn sure doesn’t deserve Otabek and _his_ kindness and friendship. 

He sighs as he turns away from Yuuri, his shoulders up even though they want to convey the shape of defeat that he feels radiating out from his core. 

“Thanks for…checking up on me...Yuuri. But really, I’m fine. It’s just a rough time, it'll pass. I’ll see you at competition,” he says before he’s pushing off once more, all but running off the ice and into the locker room where he can quickly change out and head back to the safety and solitude of his apartment. 

He thinks Yuuri says something before he hurries off, but the sound of his own heart beating is too loud for him to make out anything else.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, so much for updating every week, huh? 
> 
> How's it going? Long time no read. Apologies first and foremost, I am very sorry. The delay in getting this next chapter up has been the product of a few things. One of which being work just got hella busy there for a while and I work full time, so during the weekends I just wanted to relax. I don't have a beta, I do all the editing myself which is...a surprising amount, believe it or not, so there's that. 
> 
> The second thing is...I hit a wall writing-wise. This story's going to get a lot darker and I really have to be in a certain headspace to do that justice, not to mention inspiration for me comes and goes in sudden flashes. I feel like I banged out the first half of this story in such a short amount of time and then I went to the creativity well and found it bone dry. And I shit you not, I rewrote this entire chapter about five different times before I felt somewhat satisfied with it (and could probably write it another 3 times until I'm truly there, but fuck it, the point's gonna be the same no matter what). 
> 
> But anyway, enough explanation, I do want to get on with the story and you probably do as well. That being said, like I said before this does get darker and will continue to (and may or may not get better, we'll see). Please take note of the warnings, I added one so without spoiling it too much that should probably give you an idea what's going on and if you're not okay with that, please don't make yourself uncomfortable and read this. 
> 
> All of that being said I um...hope you enjoy?? I'll try to get back on the ball of posting semi-regularly, I've got a better idea of how I want the next few chapters to go, but I won't make any promises about how often I'll update, just know that even if it takes a year I'm gonna finish this damn thing, 'cause I'm not a quitter!

Life starts to slip away from Yuri in unequal pieces. 

Some days he has his shit completely together. He gets up at a reasonable hour, does his stretches, eats a healthy breakfast, takes a shower, and goes through the works of practice even though his heart’s not really in it anymore. 

He pushes past that and every other feeling that lingers in the back of his mind so that he can make it through the day. Occasionally he strings fives of these days together and calls it a productive week. 

The weekends are what make or break him. 

If he’s going to continue his string of success then his weekends consist of near-constant distraction. He watches movies and TV shows, plays games on every console he owns as well as his phone, window shops online, browses other people’s blogs that mostly contain fashion that meets his aesthetic tastes or pictures of cute cats, watches YouTube videos about shit he doesn’t care about in the slightest, and he cleans. He cleans so much that he has to force himself to leave bowls in the sink or clothes on the floor just so he’ll have something to come back to. 

These are the weekends that produce the best results and allow him to stay on track. All it takes, however, is for one unproductive weekend to sneak in and the entire thing comes toppling down. 

Just one day spent in bed, his mind unfocused on a particular task or pretty distraction, and he’s falling. 

Hours begin to slip out from underneath him and whatever invisible entity that hovers above him crouches down low and begins to slowly suffocate him.

He forgets to eat and only remembers when he feels dizzy, but when he goes to his kitchen to try to find the easiest thing to make he realizes he forgot to buy food. 

He’ll pack his equipment into his gym bag and throw on a pair of sweats before heading to the rink only to find it closed. Only after several moments of irritated confusion will he realize that it’s Saturday, not Monday, and he’ll contemplate having a meltdown right there in public like the huge embarrassment he is. Instead, he’ll walk to the store where he’ll forget everything he had on his shopping list and will walk back home with bags full of shit he doesn’t need and probably still won’t eat. 

He at least remembers to feed his cat, but during these times he has no patience for her whenever she wants to cuddle up close to him. He doesn’t want to be touched and he can’t explain that to a creature that doesn’t understand any language he can speak, so he locks himself in his room and puts a pillow over his head to ignore her pitiful cries from the other side of the door. 

He gets a few worried texts from Yuuri, Viktor, and Mila respectively, but the fact that there are never any from Otabek makes him throw his phone down and ignore them all.

He doesn’t blame Otabek, not really. After all, Yuri’s the one who started the divide between them. Yuri’s the one who left Otabek’s messages unanswered or so clipped in tone that it discouraged any actual conversation to be able to flourish. 

Sometimes he imagines Otabek will show up out of the blue to check up on him or force him to actually sit down and have a conversation, to talk about what’s really going on. Especially given what Otabek now knows, it’s not really that far-fetched to assume that he’d cotton on to something now being amiss with his former best friend and yet…the days stretch on and there’s no Otabek in sight. 

He even goes so far as to think that maybe something happened to his best friend, maybe he finally met the fate that so many assumed he would using a motorcycle as his preferred method of transportation and in a moment of blind panic Yuri pulls up all of Otabek’s social media pages, his heart beating rapidly in his chest only to find that he’s perfectly fine. 

He’s perfectly fine as he posts short, but to the point updates about his training or about playlists he’s putting together. And although he’s not one to really dwell in online presence, his updates are recent enough that it sends Yuri’s anxiety-inducing theory straight out the window. 

Calmed by the reassurance that his friend is okay, Yuri breathes easier until it hits him in the gut all over again that gradually, day by day, Otabek’s becoming less and less a part of his life. 

The worst of it is, he knows he’s to blame. He knows that it’s his fault, this distance between them not just measured in miles, but in their friendship itself and yet he can’t help but feel overwhelmingly like he’s somehow doing Otabek a kindness this way. 

_Otabek’s a good guy,_ he tells himself, _he doesn’t deserve to get dragged down by all your shit._

And it is shit. All of it. 

All of the emotional turmoil and trauma that he buried deep below the surface just to get by, all of the resulting anger and worsening depression he’s been experiencing is toxic. It’s toxic not just to him, but to anyone else around him. It’s an infection that not only steals his joy and love, but that puts shackles on those feelings for those around him.

Because at the end of the day, Yuri knows that no one can really ever be close to him. At the end of the day, he knows that in spite of how much he longs for it, how desperately he craves that kind of connection even in the most platonic sense, that it’s just not possible for him. 

Because he’s a weight. He’s a weight that drags everything else down with him. He’s a weight that is the bad energy in any room he occupies that signifies to anyone residing in it that he’s a force to be dealt with, a presence to tolerate, not to enjoy the company of. 

He knows that if he were to try to continue his friendship with Otabek that he’d only poison him over time and he can’t bring himself to do it. He can be selfish sometimes, incredibly so, but even that feels like a step too far. 

So he isolates himself. From Otabek and from everyone, because at this rate he might as well. His toxicity doesn't have stipulations, nor does it understand the difference in proximity of closeness his various relationships entail. If he's toxic to Otabek, he's toxic to everyone.

The only people he remains semi-connected to are his coaches and his grandfather. His coaches for obvious reasons and his grandfather simply because in spite of how bad things get he can never seem to let his grandfather know that something’s wrong. 

It’s the same as when he was a child. No matter how many bruises he had or how poor his mental health, he always put on a smile for his grandfather and covered all his marks because if his one savior knew, if he saw just how deeply damaged Yuri was, then would he still be his savior? Would he still stick around? Or would he be disgusted and think less of his grandson? Would he still be proud of him or would he be ashamed that he’d let all of this happen to him and let it impact him this way? It’s a question that keeps him up a lot of nights, which he doesn’t really mind so much because the more sleep he can avoid, the better. 

He drinks coffee and tea constantly, even going so far as to take allergy medication he doesn’t need just so he’ll stay awake longer. His nightmares have grown worse, far past the point of being tolerable, and during a few particularly bad weeks he’s even fallen prey to sleep paralysis. These episodes shake him so firmly to his core that he loses entire days in the aftermath of the panic attacks that consume him once he regains the ability to move his limbs. 

He’s losing it, each and every day, and the worst part is...he doesn’t want it to stop. He’s locked in now, committed to seeing just how bad things can get before they reach the point of no return. What said point will look like, he has no idea, but he’s sickeningly invested in it; he’s deeply, disturbingly curious. Just how bad can things get? Just how far can he fall?

He knows the loss of his career with signify the beginning of it and as far as he can see, that’s not far off as he skates without any real passion or emotion of any kind and tends to flub jumps he used to be able to do in his sleep with how distracted he's become out on the ice. 

It’s concerning to his coaches and fellow skaters, but apparently not enough for anyone to really do anything about it, so he carries on secretly hoping every time he shows up for practice that maybe today will be the day that he takes a career-ending tumble that’ll kick the whole thing off. 

Deeper than that, he imagines himself falling to the ice and cracking his head against it so hard that he doesn’t wake up, and if that daydream brings him the only sense of relief he’s been able to find, he doesn’t want to analyze it too deeply for fear of ruining that respite. 

* * *

Although his feelings as of late are usually tangled and incoherent, he's able to pick out a recurring theme amongst his depressed and anxious state and it’s resentment. 

He’s always been a bit prone to jealousy, not helped by his upbringing, but he suspects that even if he’d had a perfect childhood that being an only kid would have likely given him some entitlement issues or something along those lines. 

Regardless, he’s well-acquainted with the blood-boiling feeling he had when he realized Viktor had abandoned him to pursue Yuuri. He’s all too familiar with the horribly unphotogenic sneer he dons whenever JJ snags the middle spot on the podium. And he’s still painfully aware (and embarrassed) of his drunken antics upon thinking that Otabek and Mila were on their way to Fucksville. 

He gets it, he’s a jealous person. His envy goes great with his eye color. 

But what begins to build inside of him over the fragmented months since the inception of his unraveling is a particularly insidious form of jealousy that can’t help but illuminate just what a fucking loser he is compared to everyone he knows. 

Sure, he talks big and turns up his nose at everyone around him, especially during competition season, but deep down he’s always known that it was compensation. 

Compensation for the fact that he’s not like the other competitors and never will be. While JJ’s parents were paying for everything he needed to skate (and then some), Yuri was shoving his prize money into his grandfather’s hands and only leaving the bare minimum for himself. 

While Phichit was collecting hamsters and showing them off between practices, Yuri was dividing up his meals so that his cat could eat too because that’s all they could afford.

While Yuuri was being consoled after not meeting the expectations of himself and his loved ones, Yuri was experiencing blind panic about how he and his grandfather would be able to make ends meet if he missed the podium completely. 

There’s an obvious goal in mind when it comes to skating, to at least snag a bronze medal and to bring honor to one’s country and family. But Yuri’s dedication and drive to win is deeper than that. This pursuit of his career is what’s saved not only his life, but his grandfather’s as well. 

The old man has a bad back and a slew of other health problems that drove him to early retirement. Yuri knows his grandfather doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to even share what he talks about during his doctor’s visits because he feels like he’s failed his family by being sick, so Yuri doesn’t push. 

He takes his winnings and hands them over silently, but sternly, and eventually he succeeds enough that they get to live comfortably. He knows his grandfather is grateful to him and proud of all his accomplishments, but there’s an unspoken shame in their arrangement in which Yuri knows his grandfather can never let his guard down enough to share with his grandson how badly he feels about relying on him so much. 

But Yuri doesn’t care, or at least tries not to. He can’t help the life he’s been given and none of his competitors had a say in their upbringing either, but now that the bottom’s begun to fall out of his mental health he can’t help but fixate on the unfairness of it all, as childish as it seems. 

He can’t help but be bitter over his peers with their loving families who can easily make it to their competitions while his grandfather has to watch from home because of his ailments. He knows he should just be grateful that he at least has some family that loves and supports him, but there’s also the stinging realization that he’s had to build his own wall between them in order to prevent his grandfather from ever finding out just exactly what happened to him as a child. 

They’re never going to be close because of these barriers and although there’s some relief there given his newfound certainty that really knowing him is the surest way to guarantee that he'll be ostracized from others, he can’t help but feel bitter about it all. 

He realizes one day, the better part of which was spent lying in bed with his eyes fixated on shadows at they slowly crept across the ceiling, that this bitterness, this resentment, is the last strong emotion he possess and as though he’s said some magic incantation, the feeling vanishes. 

It leaves behind in its wake an emptiness that’s so deep and vast that it’s almost reassuring. This is it. This is rock bottom. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower, nor can he recall the last time he even took his hair down to brush it out. 

When he turns his head he can see every article of clothing he owns save for the ones he’s currently wearing stacked up in piles on the floor. He’s not entirely confident of when the last time he changed clothes even was. 

He digs his phone out from underneath his sheets only to realize the battery ran out. How along ago, he isn’t really sure as he can’t seem to recall the last time he used his phone to even check the time or set an alarm. 

It falls out of his hand and thumps against his sheets which are tangled at an awkward angle and he knows without having to even move that at least half of his fitted sheet has snapped off the mattress and is trying to curl up to meet itself in the middle. 

He groans and rubs his hands over his face which feels somehow greasy and dried out at the same time. The only thing he knows for sure is that he at least still manages to take care of Yulia. He can at least recall leaving bed long enough to fill up her food dish, refresh her water, and empty her litter box. Apart from that, though, he has no idea when the last time he bothered showing up to practice was, or was there any practice? Was there even a competition coming up? He can’t remember, but strangely it doesn’t bother him too much. 

In fact, nothing really bothers him too much. 

He tries for a moment, really tries, to tap into an emotion, any emotion. Happy, sad, angry, afraid, but nothing comes to him. It’s not even like holding on to sand where, even though it trickles slowly out of your hand with each passing second, there’s at least a moment when you can feel it, when you know for certain that it’s there, that it has weight and texture. 

These emotions, or rather any emotion, don't even contain that level of substance for him and were he capable of laughing he supposes he would. 

He visualizes himself tipping over the edge and falling. He falls and falls and falls and just when it's almost fun, just when the upward punch of his stomach almost elicits a smile, he crashes into the ground. 

There's no pain in it, nothing hurts. At first there's nothingness, but then cracks form along the glassy surface that is his imagined form. They spread and spread until finally they shatter, the shards desperately trying to turn back into sand the way Yuri wishes he could turn back into dirt. 

And it's in that clarity, that solemn realization, that it hits him. This is what he has to do. He has to shatter. He has to break apart. He has to crumble, to become dust...to vanish. 

As soon as this epiphany hits him, he's struck with the first feeling he's had full access to in months. Relief. Not the vague haziness of it from before, not the half-formed ghoulish version of it that's lingered in his periphery on occasion, but actual, honest to god relief.

He feels relief at the thought, relief in imagining such a sweet release. 

No more torment, no more pain, no more sadness or unanswered questions. 

No more a need to push away those who he loves the most, those that he wants to let in, wants to love and be loved by, but cannot. 

No more struggling, no more outbursts, no more hiding or suppressing his feelings. 

There will be nothing. Quiet, solitary nothing. 

No nightmares, no disassociation, no flashbacks, just the simplicity of the absence of everything. 

He's a balloon, cut free from the cluster, free to float up and away from everything that tethers him down, everything that demands he stay in place only to slowly deflate with each passing day. 

Amazingly, he begins to cry, only this time not out of grief or anger, but out of joy. Out of a strange, malformed version of hope. 

He begins to laugh even, a strange sound that hits the walls at odd angles and bounces back off-key to his ear, but he doesn't care. It's there and it's enough. His freedom looms in the distance, he only needs to walk to the exit and step through. 

It's at this moment that Yulia slinks over to him, rubbing hesitantly against his leg as a sign of affection, that he feels punctured. 

Right. He has obligations. Responsibilities. He can't just up and leave everything behind, at least not without doing some careful planning. 

He pulls Yulia into his lap and gently strokes her fur which earns him a grateful purr. 

There's time, he reasons. There's time to sort this out. And it won't take much, not really. He just needs to get a few things in order and then everything will be okay. That's all. He just needs a plan of action. He can sleep on it, or try to, and when he wakes up he's going to set everything in motion and this is going to work out; this is going to be a good thing. 

It has to be, he tells himself, because it's the only thing that's made him happy since he can't even remember when.


End file.
